She had doubts, but she placed her hand in his and let him draw her closer. Despite her pounding heart, she assured him, “I’m just in it for the warmth. Don’t get any ideas.”
“Dinnae fash yourself over me.”
Mac’s face wrinkled. “I give up. What does fash mean?”
Suppressing a grin, he said, “Dinnae trouble yourself, my lady.”
“My lady”? Damn, he had charm. The sort of charm serial killers must have to lure their victims into the dark and stormy woods. She glanced at him, and his admiring look made her feel stupid, a fact she did her best to conceal. Her best wasn’t good enough. She exhaled a little too loudly.
“Why do you sigh, lass?” They’d drawn close—for the warmth—so he needed only to tilt his head down to peer at her.
His warm breath brushed her cheek, and she shivered. “I, uh, oh, I’m just sighing from the cold. Whew! It’s cold!” She made a great show of rubbing her arms.
Outside, thick flakes drifted noiselessly down. A person could die out there without anyone knowing. Their body might not be found until the spring thaw. His arm tightened around her, and he pulled her against his broad shoulders and chest. The man was a furnace.
“How is it you’re not freezing your… whatever off in that kilt? Sorry, plaid. From what I hear—never mind.” She had heard that they wore nothing underneath.
“Might I ask you a question?” he said.
She looked up with a start.
“To distract us, you ken, from the cold.” His mouth spread into a boyish grin that lit his face.
If he was a creep, he wasn’t a very good one. She hadn’t felt such ease with a man since… well, ever. For all of the dates her sister had arranged for her, none had looked at her and seen her—or made her feel—the way he did. He was—something she couldn’t even think.
“What are you thinking?” he said.
Her posture stiffened as she shrugged.
“You were shaking your head.”
She averted her eyes. “I’m shaking. It’s freezing.”
“Och, ’tis not so bad.” He grinned. “We’re inside.”
“I suppose you could call it that,” she said, looking at the stones.
“Aye, and we’ve a fire to warm us.”
As he repositioned his arms, Mac gave in and leaned into his embrace. She was cold—cold enough to reconsider her options. “Look—” She lifted her chin and peered at him. “What’s your name?”
“Ciaran.”
“I’m—”
“Mac,” he said.
Slowly, she nodded. “But most people call me—”
“Mac.”
She flashed him a suspicious look. “Yeah.”
His eyes sharpened as he looked outside. “When I pulled you from your carriage—your car—a bag fell out.”
“Oh, my purse.”
His face relaxed.
“Where is it?” she asked.
He pulled it from the shadows and handed it to her.
She rummaged through the leather bag and pulled out her phone. “There’s horrible coverage around here, but we could get lucky.” She pressed the screen a few times and held it to her ear. She looked out at the falling snow, waiting. She tried texting. “Nothing. Why would I get lucky tonight?” Mac turned to assess her companion. “I live down the road. I think we could hike through this snow in an hour.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure that I’m freezing my butt off. In an hour, we could be inside by a fire with some blankets and whisky to warm us.”
He eyed her three-inch heels. “You’ll not get far in those.”
She gave him a frank look. “I’m motivated.”
“Hand me your slippers.”
Mac’s brow creased. “Why?”
Without a word, he held out his hand. She slipped them off and handed them to him. He hit them against the rocks and pried the heels off with his dirk. He ripped two strips from his plaid and tied her shoes onto her feet, crisscrossing the plaid about her calf and tying off the ends. Ciaran doused the fire and offered his hand to Mac. Then off they went.
With careful steps, Mac moved through the snow, trying not to show how biting the cold was on her legs and feet. The ground was uneven beneath the snow, testing her balance and strength. Her feet grew numb.
After several laborious steps, Ciaran said, “My lady—”
“I am not your lady.”
“Mistress—”
“I’m nobody’s mistress.”
After low, exasperated sigh, he said, “Lass.”
Did he have to say that? She had read enough Scottish romance novels to go weak in the knees at the sound, which was something she couldn’t afford at the moment. She kept up her slow tromping.
“I cannae let you go further. Your legs will stiffen soon, if they haven’t already. You’ll get stuck, and your skin will turn black—if the bears dinnae get to you first.”
She stopped. Bears? There had been a few sightings… “Oh, good try. They’re hibernating.” She felt satisfied with herself until she looked around. There was only a sliver of moonlight. She could barely make out the road. If she took a wrong turn, they could become lost. The house lights could guide them, but there were none. “The power must be out.”
“Lass?”
“The power. There’s no light.”
He cautiously said, “Well, ’tis night.”
Mac squinted at him. Was he joking? Mac turned and looked into the darkness. She looked in the opposite direction. “Okay, I give up. Where’s the road?”
“This way.” He took her elbow to help her. “Are you sure you can do this?”
With a careless shrug, she said, “Sure, why not? I’m fine.” A few steps later, her foot landed in a rut, and Mac fell.
Ciaran caught her and heaved her up over his shoulder.
“Wait! What are you doing?” she asked as he turned back toward the stone chamber.
Without missing a step, Ciaran said, “I’m keeping you safe.”
“But I want to go home.”
“Aye, well, staying alive will have to do for the now.” His brawny legs made quick work of the rest of the hill. He set her down at the stone chamber’s entrance.
“Well. Here we are,” she said, brushing snow-dampened hair from her eyes. “Would you like to come in for some coffee?” She laughed. “Just kidding.”
He looked at her blankly and then led her back into the stone chamber. Mac shivered, unable to stop.
“I’ll light the fire.” He crouched and pulled a tinderbox from his sporran.
She had slept through the previous fire-lighting procedure, so she watched with interest. “Where did you come from? I know you said Scotland, but what century?”
“Eighteenth.”
Mac looked for a sign that he was joking. “Yeah, right.”
Mac watched the fire-making process with wonder. He smiled at her, but a hint of sorrow seemed to linger behind it. The fire started, the Scotsman rose and unwrapped the plaid from his shoulder and waist.
“Hold on there, Rob Roy. Keep your plaid on.” She held her palm out with as threatening a look as she could muster.
He stepped back and raised his palms, still holding the fabric between thumb and forefinger. “If you share this with me, we might both stay warm through the night.”
“I wish I had a dollar for every guy who’s said that.”
He made no effort to hide his smile. His gaze swept from her hair to her lips, and his face shone with amusement.
“What?” she said defensively. His gaze lingered until she blushed. “You don’t believe me? It could happen.” His eyes rested on hers with a soft look that warmed her, though she wouldn’t admit it.
“Lass—”
“Call me Mac.”
“Very well. Mac, will you share the plaid with me? It’s very warm.”
Mac was cold enough to do anything to stay warm. She nodded and let him wrap the plaid around her. Her teeth c
hattered, and he held her.
When she warmed up enough to talk, she smoothed her fingertips over the leather that covered his chest. “Nice jacket.”
“My doublet?”
She grinned and lifted her eyes. “Come on, ‘fess up. Did Cam send you over as a joke?”
“Cam?”
“Because I read Scottish romance books. I get it. Tell her I laughed out loud. Ha.” When he looked at her strangely, she smirked. “Are you some sort of singing telegram, only without the song? Oh, you’re not one of those—y’know—stripping telegrams are you?” She glanced at him and averted her gaze. “Cam’s gone too far.”
“I dinnae ken what you mean,” he said.
She studied him, unsure whether to believe him. She shook her head. “Never mind.” She stared into the fire. Mesmerized by the flickering flames, Mac yawned.
The Scotsman guided her head to his shoulder. “Try to sleep.” His warm breath gave her a chill, but not the cold kind.
Mac nodded. She didn’t need convincing. “I would like to know one thing, though.”
“And what would that be?” His voice sounded amused.
“Who are you?”
“I’ve told you my name.”
“Ciaran what?”
“MacRae.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head.
“Ciaran MacRae,” she said softly. “I can’t figure you out.”
“You can sleep on it, lass.” He brushed his lips over her hair, and then she closed her eyes.
*
Bright sun shone into the stone chamber’s entry. Mac awoke next to Ciaran, warmed by his body. On her arm lay his large hand, rough and well-shaped. She felt safe and at home in his arms. The feeling was foreign, and she didn’t trust it. He stirred and repositioned his arms about her. The plaid was coarse and uneven, as if woven by hand. Mac touched the fabric. Not even Cam would have gone to such trouble.
In response to her touch, he planted a drowsy kiss on her forehead and drifted back to sleep. Mac gasped, shut her eyes, and exhaled. She should wake him, but his breath was so warm on her neck. She wasn’t quite ready to lose the belonging she felt in his arms. That in itself was good reason to leave. She was experiencing some sort of Stockholm syndrome—not that she’d fallen in love! Nor was she held captive. She could leave. It was light out. She could find her way home without him, and she would. Mac eased Ciaran’s hand aside, taking care not to wake him. She was about to slip out of his arms when he murmured something and cupped his hand on her breast.
Mac scrambled to her feet. “Now you’re in trouble.”
Ciaran rose abruptly and looked outside for signs of danger. Seeing none, he took hold of her shoulders. “Are you all right, Mac? Och, ’tis not a proper name for a woman so fair.” His words trailed off as he gazed into her eyes.
She should say something glib to put distance between them, but she just stared, slack-jawed. Too many moments later, she forced her gaze away. “Don’t flatter me, Ciaran. It won’t work.” If she said it enough, she might believe it.
“No, I ken that you wouldnae countenance flattery. ‘Tis why I spoke only the truth.”
God, he’s good. She turned back to him, ready to toss out her best sarcastic quip, but his weightless gaze disarmed her. She lost herself in it, unable to speak. Ciaran smiled an admiring, trustworthy smile. She almost believed it.
Mac wiped snow from the seat of her jeans, turned, and kicked snow onto the fire’s glowing embers. “I’ve got to go.”
Ciaran wrapped and belted his plaid then joined her outside the stone chamber. He squinted as the bright snow reflected the sunlight. “Would you leave me here then, to fend for myself?”
“Oh, I’m sure you can manage without me.” Mac turned to find Ciaran inside her personal space. Her voice lost its self-assured tone as she looked at him. She lost track of her purpose when his full lips parted. Unsettled, she drew back, but he touched her chin. She began to protest, but his gaze was so tender that her breath caught.
“Mac.” He made no move to kiss her, but his soft gaze fell to her lips.
She found her eyes drifting to his mouth as well. The kiss was there, waiting for her. “No.” She had built a life. She controlled it. Who was he to disrupt it? She turned away and stared at the brilliant snow and the stark winter trees.
Resting his hands on her shoulders, he said, “I must leave you soon. May I kiss you good-bye?”
Her cautious look was his answer.
“Can you not trust me by now?”
Fear would not drown out the drumming of her heart. Tears stung her eyes. How dare he… How could he affect her so? “You’re a stranger.”
With a pained nod, he said, “Aye, that I am.” He searched the sky and exhaled. “If there were but words to tell you—”
“Please don’t.” She was surprised by the chill in her voice. Was Cam right? Had Mac become so adept at keeping men distant that she didn’t know how to let one get close?
Quiet and sure, he closed the distance between them. “You’ve spent the night in my arms.”
“For the warmth.”
“You ken as well as I do that there was more.”
She did, but she wouldn’t admit it. She shook her head but stopped when the tip of his finger traced her lips. Against her will, her lips parted. She grasped his hand. Even the scratches and scars on his hand were appealing. Why couldn’t she breathe?
He turned his hand to grasp hers. He drew her palm to his lips. “Mac, I ken that you dinnae remember me.”
She was breathless but managed to shake her head. “Oh, I think I’d remember you.”
His eyes shone with a hint of a smile, but it faded. He placed Mac’s hand on his chest. “Do you feel that?”
She nodded, feeling the strong beat against her palm.
“That is my heart, and it’s yours.”
She stared at his chest. “Please.” Stop. She couldn’t voice that word.
“How can I win your trust?”
Scarcely a whisper came out. “Give me time.”
He lifted her chin. “Och, lass, I dinnae have that to give.”
“It’s too much, too fast—”
“Aye, I ken it.” His expression softened.
“But you can’t—because I don’t understand it myself.”
He brushed a tear that had slid to her cheek. He frowned at the sunrise. “There is no more time for us now.” Snow caught sparks of sunlight around them. Gripping her shoulders, he took in the sight of her hair, cheekbones, and mouth. “I must leave.”
She couldn’t let him go without knowing his kiss, how it tasted and felt. So with a gasp, she lifted her face and kissed him. Souls can join with a kiss, but the hearts that housed them would break the next instant.
With a groan, he spoke against her lips. “It is not our time now, but I’ll come back for you, Mac.” He smiled at her name. “Lovely Mac, I will love you, and you will love me.” He glanced at the bright sun shining into the stone chamber. “Och, ’tis time.”
Mac opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but he stole one more kiss.
“Remember this moment. I promise you more.” He turned and walked into the stone chamber.
Mac put her hand on the stone entryway to steady herself. She felt dizzy and weak. “Ciaran, where are you going?”
He turned to look back, and he smiled. “I’m a traveler, lass. I cannae stay here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ll think me daft if I tell you, but you’ll ken when I’m gone.”
“No, I think you’re daft now.” She smiled, but tears blurred her vision.
“I live in the past.”
“Me too. That’s what Cam always tells me, but—”
“Mac, listen to me.” With a flinch, he pulled back. “’Tis too late.” He held his palm up to caution her to stay back.
Ignoring his warning, Mac rushed toward him and held his hand. A shock traveled through her. She pulled back her hand.
&nb
sp; “Dinnae touch me again.”
“But why?” She rubbed her wrist, which was tingling and numb.
With a sad smile, he said, “Will you wait for me?”
“Yes, if you kiss me like that again.” Mac’s lips spread into a smile that would not be repressed.
“You’re the one who kissed me.”
The last thing she saw was his smile. Blinding light shone from the sun behind her and from inside the chamber, like two mirrors reflecting each other. The brilliant light washed over Ciaran.
And he disappeared.
She could still hear him saying, “Lovely Mac, I will love you, and you will love me.” The last part of his promise was already true. He was gone, and she may have gone mad, but she knew he would come back. Until then, she would remember that moment.
* * *
J.L. Jarvis graduated from the University of Illinois and worked in opera and musical theatre (New York City Opera, Houston Grand Opera, national tours of Broadway shows, and summer stock). When she tired of starving, she attended the University of Houston, where she obtained a teaching certificate, a law degree, and a love of research and writing. A year of family law practice convinced her that she should instead teach and write, which she now happily does. Visit J.L. Jarvis online and sign up to get new release news at:
http://news.jljarvis.com
*
A Kick-Ass Kiss
Shirley Bourget
“Kiss Ass. Kiss Up. Kiss Off. Momma shoulda named me The Kiss. I’ve learned to do it more ways than a pack of whores who’ve been turning tricks 24/7 for years.
“It gets confusing sometimes, and sometimes I forget the true nature of things, but most times I can paint my lips the brightest red, or dull ‘em down to the palest pink, depending on what you, or I, need.
“Need to feel good about yourself? No problem. I’ll sidle up and plant a big juicy one right on your ear! That way you’ll think I’m the damnedest thing, and reward me just for being here.
The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters Page 4
